


They Dared Me, Sir

by Ewebie



Series: Tumblr Shorts [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I mean... this is real. This happened., Jolto., M/M, PWP, lap dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:38:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4414148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ewebie/pseuds/Ewebie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on an anon comment sent to 57circlesofhell.</p><p>Anon: I'm pretty sure John gave Sholto a lap dance infront of his comrades at some point.<br/>57circlesofhell: vanetti i feel like you’re about this, yes?<br/>Johnlocked: YES! It would be a dare John made during drinking with his buddies and everyone thinks they’re just joking. Meanwhile Sholto is rock hard and John knows exactly what they’ll be doing later… </p><p>  <i> He’d had enough beer. Just enough. Perfectly enough. Enough that he was feeling warm and pliable and the tiniest bit giddy. Enough that he could make a few gentle bad decisions without really doing any damage. And fuck it, why not? It was the first proper night off in months. He didn’t have to be scrubbed in theatre tomorrow. He didn’t have to be slogging through a patrol. He didn’t have any residual KP. He just had a night of beer, and poker, and mischief. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	They Dared Me, Sir

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt here: http://ewebie.tumblr.com/post/124929118678/im-pretty-sure-john-gave-sholto-a-lap-dance

He’d had enough beer. Just enough. Perfectly enough. Enough that he was feeling warm and pliable and the tiniest bit giddy. Enough that he could make a few gentle bad decisions without really doing any damage. And fuck it, why not? It was the first proper night off in months. He didn’t have to be scrubbed in theatre tomorrow. He didn’t have to be slogging through a patrol. He didn’t have any residual KP. He just had a night of beer, and poker, and mischief. And the Major was actually taking part; relaxing at the next table, seemingly absorbed in the game of Texas holdem with a pocket of Yanks.

“It’s not like I knew she had the clap,” Caddie blurt out.

John’s brows shot up in an expression of tightly held amusement.

“That’s why you gotta wrap it, ya bell end!” Heaton hollered back.

John giggled. He couldn’t help it. He tried to stem the laughter in a giant gulp of beer, but he ended up choking hard enough that Murray smacked him on the back.

“Alright there, Cap’t?”

John grinned. “Ta.”

“Oi! Watson! Your turn!”

John caught his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. “Uh, right. Where were we?”

“Caddie’s a moron and has gonorrhea,” Sully offered, pointing with the neck of his beer bottle. “Heaton, who is clearly the voice of reason, is offering homegrown sex ed for the squad. Glitch can’t tell the difference between his left and right without making,” he held up his thumb and forefinger on both hands, making an ‘L’ shape, “Everytime. And uh… Ray is…”

John actually winced as Ray came back into view, naked as a jaybird, his tan lines visible from over a hundred meters in the dark.

“Ray is apparently back from his jog,” Sully finished with a huff of laughter.

Ray dropped into his chair shamelessly. “Back and ready for the next round. Someone pass me a beer.”

“Someone ought to pass you your pants,” Heaton threw a tee shirt at the man’s head as Caddie cracked another beer and slid it over the table.

“Truth or dare, there, Cap’t?” Ray asked.

“I truthfully wish you’d put your pants on, Ray,” John winked.

Murray raised his beer to cheers John on the sentiment. “Here here!”

Ray grumbled and stood to pull on his fatigues, sliding his feet into unlaced boots and refusing to actually button his trousers. “Happy? Everyone happy? My balls are safe in this quick dry cotton! HAPPY?!” A bottle cap hit him in the back of the head, tossed from the poker table. “Oi!”

“Didn’t know it was a full moon tonight, Major,” one of the Yanks said loudly.

Sholto snorted and shook his head, checking his cards with a subtle flick of his eyes. He tossed a few chips into the pot. “Call.”

Ray flopped into his chair again. “Truth or Dare, Watson?”

“Ah, Truth,” John tipped his chair back onto two legs.

“How many limbs’ve you hacked off so far?”

“I’m sorry?” His chair snapped back to the ground with force.

“Legs, arms, how many?”

John frowned. “I don’t know,” he said darkly.

“Oi, bad form, Ray.” Murray set his beer down. “This is supposed to be fun.”

“Just answer the question.”

“I honestly couldn’t say,” John grumbled. “Do you mean, how many have I fully removed? Do the ones that are only tiny bits of flesh that I just shave off, do those count? What about the repairs I do that fail that need amputation later? Do those count? And if there’s bone out, and I take the bone, but put in a plate, are we counting that?”

“Really harshing the buzz here, Cap’t,” Caddie said softly.

“It was a terrible question,” Murray objected.

“Fine,” Ray let out a laugh to break the tension, but it was far more strained than it should have been. “You don’t give us truth, then you get a dare.”

John crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow. “Alright.”

Ray studied him for a moment, thinking. Behind him, Sholto called a raise on his hand. “Ok, Captain sunshine.” He grinned. “Doctor Three-Continents Watson.”

John felt the corner of his mouth tug into a wry smile.

“You have to…” Ray’s grin grew broad, self-satisfied, evil. “Give a lap dance…” John sighed, uncrossed his arms and rolled his eyes. It was going to be a lewd dare, of course. “To the Major,” Ray finished lowly so that no one outside of their table could hear.

John froze. “What?”

Sholto met John’s gaze for a brief minute hearing the tone in John’s voice. Ray started laughing, “You heard me. Lap dance. Dare. Off you pop.”

“Ray,” Glitch hissed. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”

“Nonsense. It’s just a bit of fun.”

“I’m going to tell him you dared me to,” John said with a huff.

“And you’re what? Just drunk enough to think it a good idea? C’mon, Cap’t. Show us what ya got. Whatever it is all those ladies seem to love.”

John shook his head as he pushed out of his chair. “You’re an idiot.” He sighed and licked his lower lip absently then stooped and untied the laces of his boots so they’d slip off easily. He was wearing pants under his fatigues, so he tugged the waist down as low on his hips as they’d sit; he’d already shed the other layers to be in his tee shirt. Ray was just being an idiot. He didn’t know, none of them knew. Well… James knew. And suddenly, the warm and giddy feeling floated back. Everyone else would think it was a dare. John raised his head before standing, smiling with full mischief. Then he stood and drained the last of his beer.

Ray clapped his hands gleefully and leapt up, grabbing the back of the Major’s chair and hauling it away from his poker table with the Major still in it. Sholto raised a brow dangerously at Ray, but kept his seat, letting out a low growl when Ray set his hands on his shoulders to keep him down.

Heaton flicked the radio across the stations until he found something club like. Awful music, but it had a beat, and John could work with it. He set down the empty beer bottle and circled round the table, drawing up in front of the Major. He gave a brisk nod, saluted. “Major.”

Sholto’s eyes narrowed. “Captain.”

“Sorry, Sir.” John cleared his throat, dropped his salute, wove his fingers together and cracked out his knuckles. He shifted his shoulders, tipped his head side to side and bounced up onto the balls of his feet. It was like warming up. Hell, he should warm up, stretch a bit. Considering what he expected he’d be doing later. A wicked grin flashed across his face, he winked at the Major and schooled his face, turning his attention to the beat of the music. Heaton turned up the volume.

John shook himself loose, swaying back and forth to song as he felt the tempo match his rhythm. He was going to get in so much trouble for this. Then he purposely rocked his hips and advanced on Sholto, spreading his base to plant his feet on either side of the Major’s chair and rolled his hips, contorting his spine to tilt his shoulders in opposition to his hips.

He was careful, so careful to avoid any real contact, but he didn’t miss the twitch in the Major’s shoulders as he sat with his back ramrod straight. John drew his leg sharply behind himself, turning out and around in a bizarre perversion of a disciplined pivot, and putting his back to Sholto. He rolled his pelvis in wide circles and grabbed the hem of his tee, drawing it over his head and off in a quick snap, his tags dropping back against his bare chest. With a wink, he lobbed it over the table at Murray; at least Murray would give it back when he was done.

“WOO!”

“Take it off!”

A flurry of catcalls and wolf whistles started from the lads at his table as he undid the button at the top of his fatigues, letting them slip a bit lower on his hips. Then he backed into the Major, rocking his hips and shoulders in time, inching closer and closer, nearly sitting in Sholto’s lap. It was tribute to his strength that he didn’t actually fall back against his CO when his center of gravity looked so far displaced. And that was the edge John found, gyrating only centimeters from actually touching, challenging the laws of physics to sustain the danger of collapsing, torturing them both in full view of an inappropriate number of people.

He heard the huff of breath. It was subtle, but tense. Too close to the line. Not silly enough to laugh off anymore. So John did what he’d always done, self-defense and self-preservation just strong enough for him to deflect back with humor. He flexed forward at the hips, crudely shaking his arse at Sholto, then toed out of his boots and dropped his fatigues. It was surprisingly smooth. Slick almost. And he was down to his pants.

It wouldn’t do to actually injure his feet, so the boots were back on without much thought. And John straightened, wiggled his bum, and let out a startled sound as a palm cracked across his arse. One of the Yanks, maybe a colonel, maybe a major had decided to join the absurdity.

“Oi!” Ray laughed. “No touching!”

“Enough!” He didn’t need to be loud to be heard and understood, and at the moment, Sholto’s voice was sharp and cold. John fell back instantly as Heaton killed the music. “Fall in!”

Caddie may have staggered. Ray was still sans shirt. Heaton was half a beer shy of langered and looked like he’d vomit. Glitch couldn’t find his end of the line for a full extra five seconds. And Sully actually fell out of his chair to accommodate the command. Murray was the only one that looked halfway put together, but he was busy shoving John’s shirt into the wad of John’s fatigues where he had them clenched in his hands at the small of his back. “Watson, you’re a bloody lunatic,” Murray hissed under his breath. And John, well, he was having trouble keeping a straight face in light of the fact that he was standing at attention in his combat boots, pants, and dog tags, with a hand-shaped welt slowly reddening his left arse cheek.

Sholto paced the line of them once, stopping in front of John and crossing his arms. “Explain, Captain.”

John made the mistake of meeting his gaze and quickly bit down on his lower lip to keep from smiling. He cast his eyes over the Major’s shoulder and cleared his throat. “Just a bit of fun, Sir.”

“Fun?” He arched a brow.

“Just a game, Major,” Caddie offered.

“A game, Corporal?” Sholto cocked his head. It was all so quiet, the ice in his voice clear without the need for raising his volume.

“Sir, it’s our night off,” Ray complained.

John almost groaned. That was not the way to handle Sholto. Not at all. “Lieutenant?” It wasn’t a question. Ray, please, it wasn’t a question.

“Fuck,” Murray hissed under his breath.

Ray swayed a bit uneasily. “Sir!” he tried to straighten to full attention and execute a salute in short order. But he’d forgotten his fatigues. Forgotten they weren’t done up and forgotten they were all he had on. And they slipped to his knees. Sholto’s eyebrow shot up again as he watched the flush spread across Ray’s face. To his credit, he didn’t even try to adjust his fallen trousers.

Oh no. Heaton’s lips twitched in the beginning of a grin. And Caddie was turning a shade of red from biting back his laughter. Glitch actually forgot his posture and did a double take at Ray’s bare arse. Sully just closed his eyes against something he’d seen far too much of. Murray’s jaw was clenched tightly to keep from making a sound. And John knew they were all about to crack. They were too heavy into their night. They were too giddy, too much alcohol and inanity. And he couldn’t let the lads actually get in trouble for it. It wouldn’t be fair. So he let out single laugh and pretended to cough.

Sholto’s attention snapped back to him. And he knew. He knew John’s control was stronger than that. He knew it was a distraction, a way for everyone to save face. “Something amusing, Captain?” He leaned forward, his face only inches from John’s. And in response, John tilted his chin, just enough it would be seen.

“Sir, no, Sir.”

The Major narrowed his eyes, locking his gaze with John’s. “PT at dawn.” There was a whisper of a groan from the line. “Watson, my office. Now.” John swallowed, but didn’t flinch. Someone else did though. The whisper of a groan became a shifting of discomfort, maybe guilt, and a murmur of displeasure. “And that’s KP tomorrow for all of you.” It went quiet again. Silent. You could hear a pin drop. “Captain. Now. If you please.”

John nodded. He turned on his heel. And he marched, as best he could with untied boots, with his clothes balled up and clenched at his side, but he put his back straight and his chin up.

“Dismissed!” Sholto snapped.

John didn’t need to turn around to know that the lads had cleared out quickly, heading to the mess, or back to bunk, or cleaning up the now defunct poker tables. He didn’t need to turn around to hear Sholto’s brisk steps as the man caught up to and overtook him, then waited, holding open the door to the portacabin that housed the Major’s office.

“Inside, Watson!”

John marched in, and Sholto slammed the door behind him.

“What the bloody fuck was that?!” Sholto bellowed, covering the sound of the door locking with his shout.

John rolled his tongue out across his lower lip and caught it there as the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Interpretive dance, Sir. I’m quite the arts enthusiast.” He let his fatigues and shirt slip lazily to the floor.

When Sholto’s eyes narrowed this time, there were amused creases in the corners. “An arts enthusiast?” He advanced quickly, forcing John to retreat backwards. “I never took you for a dance aficionado.”

“I’ve,” John paused as the tops of his thighs met the edge of the heavy desk at his back. “Uh… I’ve had years of practice, Sir.”

Sholto leaned forward, resting his knuckles on the desk at John’s hip, and forcing John to arch backwards. “Practice,” Sholto drawled. “Does tend to make perfect.”

John smirked and stuck out his chin, holding the lip of the desk with both hands to balance. “I’ve been told I’m quite good, Sir.”

“Well,” Sholto forced a smile. “I’d hate to deprive you of completing your performance.” And he shifted. Abandoning John on the desk and taking the long way around to his chair. He settled back easily, tossing his beret onto the cabinet in the corner. “So. Off you go… Captain.”

John closed his eyes, the challenge and command of his rank rolling off Sholto’s tongue and shuddering down his spine. Fair enough. He nodded once, smiled to himself, and murmured, “Sir, yes, Sir.” He slid back onto the desk and swiveled around, letting his knees hang over the edge on the other side, his feet swinging effortlessly, the laces from his boots brushing against Sholto’s calves through his trousers. He knew how it was, how it worked, this tension they built. They lived on a knife’s edge here. They lived in a warzone. And they liked it. Got off on it. Thrived on it. It was about the astriction in the rigidity of age-old hierarchy. It was about how far they could push one another. It was about the defiance and provocation and ultimately release with someone who comprehended.

John leaned back, planting his palms on the solid wood of the desktop and stretching his torso in a lazy display of patience. He tilted his head, considering, plotting. “Shame there’s no music,” he murmured and tilted his head the other direction.

“Your marching rhythm is impeccable. Don’t tell me you need gaudy techno to keep time.”

John grinned. His tongue poked out and he held it at the corner of his mouth between visible teeth and smiled around it. It was only a slight rotation of his ankle to bring the toe of his boot along the inside of Sholto’s shin, and he dragged it roughly up along the fatigues. “No,” John shook his head slowly. “I don’t.” He planted his boot on the seat of the chair between Sholto’s legs and tilted it back, only bringing the front legs an inch off the ground.

Sholto raised a brow and tucked his hands between the chair and the small of his back. “No touching?”

John grinned wildly. “If you can.” The noise Sholto made was possibly an affirmative, but equally likely a groan of concession. John let the chair fall back to the floor and sat up, crossing his arms over his chest and giving a slight jerk with his chin. Sholto slid the chair back about foot to give John room. It was going to be a tight space, but the desk was bloody huge and practically immoveable. John smirked as he remembered learning exactly how secure the bulky piece of furniture was. “Now,” John slid himself from the desk, landing lightly in his booted feet. “Where were we?” He leaned forward, catching his weight with one hand on the back of the chair, bringing his mouth alongside Sholto’s ear. “I think,” he hooked the fingers of his free hand in Sholto’s collar, sliding the first three buttons open. “We were discussing the benefits of the arts.” He dragged both palms down the Major’s front, not stopping until he reached his thighs. Then he gripped and pushed, sliding into the space he made and twisted himself round.

Where previously he’d strained to avoid any contact, this time, John practically attacked, circling his pelvis three times before lowering himself onto Sholto’s lap and grinding back against him. The huff of breath that hit his shoulder was relief and frustration, a quiet plea for more and desperate control. And John loved it. He leaned back, his spine brushing buttons and warm cotton before arching so his shoulders and his arse were the moving points of contact for them.

John let his head fall back against Sholto’s shoulder, gripping the Major’s hip and slowly rolling his pelvis in figure-eights. Lips brushed the side of his neck, teeth skating the muscle at the crux of his neck. And John let out a low hum of approval as he continued to tease. God it was good. It was stupid and illicit and unsustainable in the long term, but fuck it if they both weren’t hard as hell and loving every second.

So he pulled away. Rocking himself over Sholto’s thigh and around behind the chair. He ghosted the tips of his fingers along the nape of his neck, dipping below the open collar to trace vertebrae and muscle. He dragged his nails along the scalp, twisting into the short blond hair and tugging Sholto’s head back, exposing the long line of his neck to John’s palm. John kissed him, filthy and deep, with a hand resting on his airway. He nipped at his neck and draped his arms over his shoulders to reach his buttons again, and John made quick work of those. Sholto’s head rolled on John’s shoulder and he let out a deep groan as John’s deft fingers released the button and fly of his trousers.

John rubbed his nose behind Sholto’s ear, palming him roughly through the fatigues. “Mercy?”

He grunted and shook his head. “You can do better.”

John laughed. He could. So he drew himself around to the front of the chair and smirked. “I could go,” he rested his palms on Sholto’s knees. “If you think my performance is so unsatisfactory.” His hands slid leisurely up the strong thighs. Sholto growled. “No?” John licked his lips and straddled the Major’s lap. He hooked his feet through the legs of chair and rocked his pelvis forward, grinding their erections together in a slow, heavy friction. And he grinned again, wrinkling his nose as he looked down at Sholto. He liked this position; it made him feel taller. “I think I’d like to make you come in your pants,” he said bluntly.

Sholto huffed out a laugh, but it cut off in a small gasp as John shifted again, catching him at a different angle that made his hips jump involuntarily. “Tease.”

John flexed his feet, locking himself to the chair as firmly as he dared and curved his body into a slow wave of motion, starting at his knees, up through his thighs and hips, his abdomen stretched taut as he arched his back, then his shoulders, neck and head. Then he started again, leaning further and further back over Sholto’s thighs with each contorted roll of his body. The shift of his weight forced his pelvis tighter against the Major’s in a gorgeous rut, drawing appreciative groans out of the heaving breaths. And John clenched his thighs and pulled himself upright with the strength of his core.

Making it back to vertical was enough to put a drunken spin through John’s head on its own. But he’d barely made it back to up when a strong hand slid around the back of his neck and dragged him forward into a crushing kiss that was equal parts lips and tongue and teeth. John let out a small keen of complaint that devolved into a moan as the other hand grabbed a handful of his arse and pulled him flush against the Major.

The teasing was over. The slow wind up, the build up, the tension was maxed out. And this was where everything tipped off the edge. Control was sacked and command razed in favor of the tumble into satiety. John arched and gasped, his hands curling into sturdy shoulders as strong hips thrust up against his and his mouth was freed in favor of rough bites and heavy licks against the side of his neck.

“James.” John felt his mouth drop open in an effort to keep the air moving through his lungs, and he didn’t care. He was so close. So close. He rallied his senses enough to insinuate a hand between them, deftly bypassing trousers and pants to wrap his fingers around James’ cock.

The resulting growl sent a shuddering heat down John’s spine and James lost the rhythm in a rapid stutter of his hips. “Fuck.”

They’d been together enough times that John knew exactly how to bring him to climax, exactly what pressure, what speed, what twist in his wrist, what stroke of his thumb. And John rolled them all together as he lipped at James’ ear. “James,” he purred. “James.” If it were allowed, if they could get away with it, John would be marking that neck with lovebites. But as it stood, the hint of teeth was dangerous enough to push Sholto over the edge.

And he was restrained only in the volume of his vocal response, the snarl of satisfaction both long and low as he spilled into John’s hand and his own pants. And the time it took for John to free his hand was a brief respite, a reprieve in the activity that lasted only seconds before John’s mouth was consumed anew by a frenetic kiss. John moaned. He was so close. And both of his wrists were collected into one hand and pinned at the small of his back, and he barely held back the loud yelp threatening the back of his throat as a warm palm wrapped around his cock.

“Come on, John,” James whispered, pumping his fist steadily. John writhed, tossing his head back and tugging at his wrists ineffectually as James’ lips nipped at his adam’s apple, at his jaw. “Come on.”

“Please,” he begged.

James bit at the soft flesh beneath John’s jaw, and he was lost in the blinding bliss of a rather intense orgasm. “Jesus,” James sighed, his lips ghosting across John’s temple. “That was expressly athletic on your part."

John huffed and let himself go lax for a moment, resting his weight against James’ broad chest. “Told you,” he muttered. “Arts enthusiast.”

“Mmn.”

“What happened to ‘No Touching’?” John pressed his lips to the nearest patch of skin, taking the sting out of his words.

“You won,” James said softly.

“You came in your pants,” John giggled.

“So did you.”

John snorted and let his forehead settle against James’ shoulder as his breathing slowly calmed. “Permission to skip PT in the morning.”

“Oh?”

“On account of being fucked senseless.”

A deep laugh rumbled through James’ chest. “That sounds like preferential treatment.”

“Getting fucked senseless or skipping PT?” John shifted to unravel his legs from the chair and winced at the slight cramping in his muscles.

“Both,” James caught his chin in one large palm and pulled him in for a lazy, contented kiss, resting his forehead against John’s when they’d had their fill. “But if we don’t move in the next minute,” he said finally. “We’ll be glued together.”

John groaned. “True.” It took a few aborted attempts before John found his feet, and he grimaced at the cooling mess that was left in and on his pants.

“Here,” James guided him back against the desk and left him propped against the heavy wood, returning moments later with a damp washcloth. “The pants might be a lost cause.”

John accepted the towel and smiled languidly. “So are your trousers.”

James snorted. “Stay. I’ll be back in a moment.”

John nodded absently and watched him stride into the adjoining room. Once alone, he sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face, grounding himself with the rough sensation. He stripped out of the ruined pants and wiped himself clean, before trying to remember where he’d dropped the rest of his clothes. Oh. Middle of the floor. Of course. The humor of it returned and John felt lighter again.

He struggled into his fatigues and slid his tee shirt back on before using the desk as a support to permit him to replace his boots. James reappeared in clean clothes, drying his hands on a towel. “So,” the corner of his mouth twitched in a half smile. “You never did explain what that was about.”

John gave a delighted little grin; the small expression of pleasure on James’ face was rare enough. It felt private. Personal. He was oddly proud to have put it there. “I told you, it was just a bit of fun.”

James huffed out a low laugh. “Just a bit of fun?”

John beamed. “They dared me, Sir.”

When he shook his head, it was affectionate. “You’re as bold as they come.” He combed his fingers through John’s hair, setting it right and respectable again. John cocked a brow wryly, and James smiled again. “Can’t have you leaving looking like I just buggered you over my desk.”

“Oh. No. Certainly not,” John submitted to the quick grooming. “At least, not again.”

The frown came and went as James laughed in the face of John’s giggles. “No, not again,” James agreed finally. “What’ll you tell them?”

John sighed and furrowed his brow. “How about, I’m scrubbed for the day, and personally tidying your affairs in the evening. In return, they’ve the PT at dawn, and a stern reminder that being mildly intoxicated doesn’t justify disrespecting the command.”

“And how did you manage this coup?” James asked carefully.

“Same way I always do,” John smiled. “I prodigiously eroded your cogency until you capitulated to my rather discerning suggestions.”

“The cheek of you.”

“I could use smaller words, Sir. If you’re worried they’ll draw the wrong conclusions. I could just tell them you buggered me over the desk again.”

James huffed out a laugh.

“That you came at me so hard, I trembled in the wake of it.”

“Stop, John. Please.”

John nodded and swallowed. “It’ll be fine. They won’t know.”

“I know.”

John sighed and nodded again. “I should,” he bobbed his head toward the door.

This time the smile was melancholy, “Yes, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow when you’re done in the CSH.”

John raised a single brow. “I’ll be sure to come set your affairs in order.”

“I only have one affair, John.”

“Of course, Sir.”

[](https://imageshack.com/i/pbhQFuCSj)

**Author's Note:**

> ADORE the artwork from SweetLittleKitty!!!


End file.
